


Chimney Smoke

by chewysugar



Category: Once Upon a Time (TV)
Genre: Christmas, Established Evil Queen | Regina Mills/Emma Swan, F/F, Fairy Tale Retellings, Magic, Redemption, Swan Queen - Freeform, The Enchanted Forest, Winter
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-11-28
Updated: 2018-11-28
Packaged: 2019-09-01 15:20:25
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,432
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16767754
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/chewysugar/pseuds/chewysugar
Summary: Regina's annual tradition of trying to make amends for a past mistake is helped along by the woman she loves.





	Chimney Smoke

Ice castles lined the streets of Storybrooke. Belying the warmth of the holidays that were cozily contained within, each craftsman home and Tudor bore resemblance to a picture perfect Christmas card. Hoarfrost crusted the bare trees; banks of snow lapped abreast of the sidewalks. Wreaths bedecked doors; lights were strewn from streetlight to streetlight. Joy had descended over a town that, for once, was reaping the benefits of peace and quiet.

Regina’s boots clicked over the shoveled, salted sidewalks. Christmas was less than three days away, and her town not only showed it, but seemed to burst with it. As cliche as it sounded, there did seem to be a kind of magic in the air. And as was the norm for her, Regina didn’t feel it to the same capacity. Once upon a time, she hadn’t felt it at all.

Yuletide in the Enchanted Forest had been an occasion for grandiosity, not the warm wishes and peace on earth nonsense of this place. Even as a child, Regina hadn’t felt the contentment of the season, due mostly to her mother’s influence. Here, time hadn’t moved enough to allow for observation of festival or holiday. For Henry’s sake, Regina had kept a calendar: she would wilt and wither the trees, and make pumpkins grow for Halloween; and for Christmas, Storybrooke would find itself blanketed by snow. But these cosmetic changes had done little for either mother or son.

That had been years ago. Most of Regina’s energy towards the holidays was now exerted for her son. And then of course, this—her own tradition, one of guilt and penance.

Regina’s fingers curled around he tie of a small bag clutched in one hand. She stood on the corner of Felton and Main, waiting for the damnable traffic sign to change. People streamed down the sidewalk around her, all giddy with expectation.

It brought Regina back, rather unexpectedly, to memories of her own kingdom’s busy market places. If Storybrooke could boast a picture perfect Thomas Kinkade, then the villages and castle towns of the Enchanted Forest were straight from a winter’s tale. All had been plump drifts of snow, fragrant smells of wood smoke, and the perfume of dozens and dozens of open market stalls.

At least, it had been when Regina’s own forces hadn’t been razing the countryside to ash. And as a result of all that needless waste and ruin, she found herself here, partaking of the same futile tradition every December.

The streetlight changed. Regina snapped to attention, and crossed at a brisk pace. She’d be gone for most of the day—not that her purpose would take significantly long. Rather, the fallout tended to leave her drained to the point that she needed something hot, loaded with carbohydrates, and accompanied by alcohol. Henry wouldn’t be hurting for her company. Not because he didn’t want it the way he had for all those years; but because Emma was at home with him.

Just thinking about the picture of her own home helped lighten Regina’s spirits a small degree. Archie Hopper would have been delighted in his assertions that Regina still had it in her to love; that she simply needed to unlock all the carefully guarded doors of her heart. Co-mothering the one thing that had saved her from the precipice had proven to be a balm to her soul day after day. It was showing up every day and being patient that was the difficult part.

And to speak of the Devil, Archie himself strolled by Regina with his stalwart canine companion on the leash. It was a testament to the man’s good heart that he still had it in him to not only meet Regina’s eye and smile, but to greet her with no pretensions.

“Afternoon, Regina. Out doing some Christmas shopping?”

Regina, unable to truly smile at such blasé words, nevertheless mustered a small, wry quirk of her lips. “Hardly.” She stopped and gave Pongo a quick scratch behind the ears, secretly highly pleased that he didn’t shy away, or growl. “I’m going for a walk in the woods. Try not to let anyone else invade the town.”

“I don’t think that really up to me.” Archie gazed at Regina with patented therapist face. One day, Regina supposed she’d learn better than to stop and make pleasantries. “Are you alright? You look a little...” Archie gestured dismissively with a mittened hand.

“I’m perfectly fine,” Regina sighed. “And if I wasn’t, I doubt this adorable piece of sidewalk is the place to discuss it.”

Archie’s frown deepened. “Well...I hope you feel better. Nobody should be miserable at Christmas.” And with that, he and Pongo walked off, neither aware that Archie’s words had driven a stake through Regina’s heart.

_Nobody should be miserable at Christmas..._

It would have been funny if it weren’t so tragic. With a huff, Regina hurried on, clearing first the busier streets, then the outlying homes, and then the few scant farms that bordered her town. At long last she reached the shelter of the silver woods. Her legs ached and her cheeks were raw from cold. The sun had already embarked on its gradual descent from its zenith, though the solstice had been days before. Driving would have been faster; but the walk was part of the tradition; the soreness in her limbs, the flush of cold and the chill in her marrow all a pale facsimile of the one she made this trek for.

Graham had alerted her to the presence of something altogether outside her scope all those years ago. Fitting that it had been him, given what she’d taken away in the grips of yet another bout of rage. He’d reported seeing smoke snaking into the sky from the the western part of the woods. Upon further inspection he’d heard pitiful sobbing. Regina, at the time, had not wanted Graham or anyone else under sway of her curse to question their situation. And so she’d taken it upon herself, one wretched winter’s night, to investigate.

Now her steps contained no trace of the laser focused swagger with which she’d walked that night—that purposeful, vengeful stride that dared anything to interrupt it. She walked steadily, carefully...reverently, as if the watching trees were the walls of a cathedral, and every rock a dour, disapproving member of the clergy, robed in white snow.

This mattered to her, in the way that only a handful of things did. Before Henry had come into her life, Regina hadn’t felt a wick for this. But children changed lives no matter to whom they were born. It wasn’t always for the better, as was evident with her own heartless mother. The Christmas after she’d first held Henry in her arms, and truly felt his helplessness, something had pierced the dark cloud around her heart. She’d come back to the secret part of the woods, following the wispy trail of smoke and the smell of smouldering wood; the sound of pitiful cries had stirred a buried piece of maternity in her. She’d spent a long, silent vigil staring at something she’d wrought.

Since then this had become her version of stringing up garland and listening to Bing Crosby. Not that Regina didn't still adhere to that tradition for Henry’s sake. But this was private. It had to be for numerous reasons.

As twilight closed the forest in its grasp, a small, pitiful, crying sound ghosted through the trees. Regina’s heart ached at the sound. If only the Charming’s could see her now, so moved by memory and plight. But they had no knowledge of this—of yet another terrible thing the Evil Queen had ignorantly allowed to happen.

Through the trees, the skeleton of a house stood, as if it had grown from the ground along with the barren trees and unfeeling rock. Most of the building was nothing more than a few charred beams and crumbling stone. But one thing remained, upright as if it had determined to be a bastion against waste and ruin. A hearth, made of stone, with a wide belly for the fireplace and a tall, frost-rimed shaft of a flue. From this flagrant stronghold against all destruction, a thin stream of smoke spiraled into the air, though no embers burned in the pile of soot and ash. The gut-wrenching sounds of something small and bereft echoed like a haunting Christmas dirge all around the small clearing. Through the gloom, Regina could just make out the indistinct shape of a translucent figure huddled among the waste.

So many years had elapsed since she’d first come here that Regina had had time to pontificate upon the specifics of how this had come to pass. Her armies had been indiscriminate in their sacking of the land; they’d likely torched this house and killed almost all of its residents save one. That had been enough to catch Regina’s heart in her throat; but when she thought about the fact that the ghost whimpering in the fireplace had lived long enough in the ruins to be claimed by the curse, she’d nearly been driven to physical, violent sickness.

The girl had been young—at least nine or ten. Her spirit lingered every holiday, hurt and lost and forever stricken from the loss of all that she’d known. Regina had tried with all her might to assist the soul in crossing over, but to no avail. Because this place was not the one to which she’d been born. Her afterlife was separated by an entire realm of existence.

She couldn’t help her cross over. But she could do a little to alleviate the ghost’s endless suffering.

Regina opened her bag, the ghost’s whimpers making her eyes start to sting. She withdrew several objects that, to anyone else, would have looked more at home in a grandmother’s attic: a small spring of pine; a ceramic mug with painted reindeer around it; a wooden nutcracker soldier no bigger than Regina’s hand, and a simple golden Christmas bauble.

These totems Regina set in a line on the frigid ground. She took care not to make too much noise; the ghost was, as Regina had learned in the past, perfectly cognizant of her surroundings. It was just that she couldn’t bear to pull herself away from the last vestiges of her home; and trapped as she was in a cycle of trying to keep warm—the last thing she’d done before the curse had claimed her at the same moment cold and starvation had.

Regina removed her gloves Cold caressed her knuckles and gripped her fingers in vengeful tightness. No chill would ever suffice to punish Regina enough, and so she didn’t let herself feel it in the least. Her hands hovered over the array of totems before her. Faint lights of gold, silver, red and green glowed around them. Then the lights began to dance, moving in grand threads around one another as they twined towards the hearth where the ghost sat crying. The lights spread along the fireplace, and then through all that remained of the house.

A vision graced the ruins. What once had been waste painted itself as whole again. Walls and doors and furniture flickered into existence; the light of warmth and home illuminated the clearing. An immense Christmas tree grew from the ground, nearly reaching the sudden ceiling of the home; garlands and decorations of all kinds festooned the rooms that Regina could see despite being beyond the walls of the illusion. Toothsome smells of turkey, gingerbread and mulled wine blanketed the wild perfume of the woods; lively music sounded among the murmur of many voices—voices belonging to the visions of festively dressed women and men.

A merry fire roared in the hearth. The ghost now stood not inside the fireplace but before it, gazing in rapturous wonder at the memory of home. She laughed and danced with an older boy, who picked her up and spun her around. A man and a woman, decking the tree, smiled dotingly at their children. And there, comfortably rocking in a sturdy chair, sat an old woman blanketed in cozy shawls and quilts.

Regina watched the festive scene. She herself felt nothing of the magic. Instead she let the chill of night sink into her skin. What she’d wrought would last until the girl retired to bed. Then Regina would let the lights and memories sink back into the ornaments she’d collected over the years, and quietly sneak back home. This was the least she could do, and she knew it wasn’t enough. Because the girl would waken from this dream, back to the reality of all she’d lost.

A twig cracked in the woods behind her. Regina let her magic extend, feeling in the ether for the intruder so that she need not turn around. Once she identified the newcomer, though, she nearly faltered her vigil.

This was the last person in the world she wanted to bear witness to this pitiful attempt at making amends. Yet she couldn’t help the immediate relaxation that coursed through her entire body.

“Geannie?”

That damn nickname. How many times did it move all those once thought permanent shadows in her soul?

“You’re supposed to be with Henry,” Regina said softly.

Emma drew level with her. She looked a perfect picture of holiday, dressed in red and her hair honey blonde as a candlelight. Eyes as blue and searching as a pure December sky looked from Regina to the visions dancing among the ruins.

“Henry’s fine. He’s with my mom and dad and Neal.”

Some snow had fallen on Emma’s shoulder, probably from her trek through the woods. Regina brushed the offending flakes away, her head bowed. Sifting through the layers of her shame felt all but impossible. There was so damn much of it, piled upon itself like an impenetrable bank of snow.

“Hey.” Emma took her face in both hands. “What’s going on?”

“A blizzard,” Regina sighed, savoring the soft strength of Emma’s touch. “Too much to even get across.” She looked back at the ruins that housed the little ghost girl, and felt that ache anew. She’d never told Emma, because this had been almost sacred to her.

“After everything, you think this is too much?” Emma crossed her arms, and gave Regina that no-tolerance smirk. “Do you want me to start guessing?”

“Why would I want that when I’m confident that you already know?”

“I thought I was the one asking the questions.”

Regina let her defenders fall, because damn it if she didn’t hate the idea of tree being any more secrets between herself and Emma. Watching as the small ghost danced around her father’s feet, Regina spoke in a low voice.

“I did something terrible back in the Forest. Not the surprise of the year, I know. I’ve been trying to make amends for this—for trapping her worse than anyone else. And sometimes...sometimes I worry that this might not be enough.”

Emma’s arm wrapped around Regina’s shoulders. Broken, and not afraid of it in the company of her savior, Regina surrendered to the embrace.

“I just want to make this right,” she said, hating how choked her own voice had become. “I’m not strong enough, Emma. I’ve never been strong enough.”

Emma’s fingers threaded with Regina’s. “You don’t need me to point this out to you, Geannie. But the fact that you’ve tried all these years is proof enough for me. And if you don’t think you’re strong enough alone, then just remember this: you aren’t alone anymore.”

Regina stared. Emma’s grip tightened in hers. Already she felt the ebb of magic tingling through her bloodstream—a magic far stronger than any she’d ever hope to wield on her own. It sang in her veins like the sweetest carol, filling her with the wonder of possibility.

“Show me what I have to do,” Emma whispered.

It had always failed before; and all her guilt had made her destined to fail. But here she was, hand in hand with this incredible woman. Not only did she know what to do, but she felt overwhelmed with the confidence that she and Emma could do this together.

“She needs to go to the Forest,” Regina said, breathless with expectation. “Once there she’ll ascend to where she’s meant to be.”

“So a door,” Emma said. Regina noticed, in the way that she always noticed the subtle things in the woman she loved, Emma’s eyes narrow with determination. To think Regina had once thought that bravery a sign of recklessness and foolishness.

“Yes. A door. But we can’t scare her. She has to want to go.”

Emma grinned a little. Regina was sure there was something in the ghost girl’s desire for family that resonated with her gorgeous swan.

Pure magic emanated from both women. It flowed across the snowy ground, and twined flawlessly with the illusion. Regina and Emma never pushed and pulled when their magic fused; there was no need to. Regina lead where she knew was best to traverse, and Emma followed without question.

Regina noticed a door, green as a sheltering pine, that hadn’t been a part of her enchantment. It stood at the top of the staircase, a wreath of holly hanging from it. As the magic continued to course from them, Regina caught sight of the sheer stubbornness in Emma’s sapphire gaze. It bolstered her, in the way Emma’s indomitable spirit always did.

The mother ascended the stairs first, laughing, her beautiful face alight with invitation. With a smile like a farm boy, the father followed next. Then the brother, tugging excitedly on the girl’s arm, joined his parents. Each ghost entered the door, walking into a warm light beyond. The tiny ghost stared, confused but not afraid. Emma was pouring all the love she’d found since Henry had come back into her life into the spell they were working.

At last, the grandmother stood. She motioned to the girl, and then held out her plump hand. The girl’s wan face brightened. She looked back, not at anything in the room, but at Regina, as if asking permission.

Regina nodded, her eyes stinging.

_Go_ , she mouthed. _It’s time_.

The girl didn’t need telling twice. She and her grandmother took the stairs together, leaning on each other. The girl looked back once, and then crossed the threshold to her long awaited paradise.

Regina’s hold on the magic snapped. The warm home disappeared, leaving behind the ashen, frozen ruins. No smoke rose from the flue; the woods were now still and silent as a winter’s night ought to be. The enormity of what had happened—of all these lonely years revising her shame—engulfed Regina. She sank to her knees, the tears flowing despite her effort to keep her composure. She mourned the loss of the tradition, and yet she felt elated that, after all this time, her little ghost had finally gone home.

Emma crouched down next to her, massaging her back. She didn’t say anything, and Regina appreciated it more than she could possibly say.

How many minutes passed before she could finally stand, Regina didn’t know. But at last, her strength returned. Emma helped her to her feet, and pulled her in for a tight, comforting hug.

“You did amazing,” Emma whispered into her hair.

Regina laughed. “Shouldn’t I be saying that to you?”

“This ain’t about me, Geannie.” Emma pulled back, and smiled sadly. In the darkness, she looked a positive spirit of the season. “Shall we? Henry’s champing at the bit to watch _Miracle on 34th Street_ with us.”

“The original, I hope.”

“Of course. You didn’t raise a heathen, baby.”

“And you didn’t give birth to one. Just a moment.” Regina stopped and gathered the trinkets from the ground. She had just closed the tie of her bag one a flicker of light caught her eye from the depths of the skeletal home. Pausing, she looked up.

There was something glowing in the hearth. Without thinking, Regina stood and picked her way carefully through the rubble. Emma followed, not questioning Regina’s sudden jolt into activity.

When Regina finally reached the hearth, she let out a small gasp of surprise. There, nestled among the perennial ashes, was a small bell jar, sealed at the top. Inside, hovering between base and lip, was the tiniest burning flicker of flame, no bigger than the fire of a lit match.

Regina’s little ghost girl had left a gift behind in exchange for the one she and Emma had given her.

**Author's Note:**

> Please let me know what you think!


End file.
